NON F IC T ION
27
I am a huge fan of David Sedaris, and his mastery of opposite synonyms. In When You Are Engulfed in Flames, he talks about being a hobo for Halloween when he was a child (Sedaris). He briefly touches on the difference between a hobo and a homeless person, and it gets me thinking every time. Hobo is really just a word for an adult with a highly adventurous, childlike spirit, who refuses to come inside after a good play in the mud. A homeless person is entirely different. Homeless people are to be pitied and looked down on. We are meant to DO something about them, because we have homes and therefore are more fortunate. Nobody DOES something about a hobo. They’re amusing characters, figures we allow our children to dress up as for Halloween. You don’t see anybody telling their son to dress up as a homeless person. That would be offensive. But how different are the words, really? They both refer to someone who is lacking a permanent place to live, probably wearing the same clothes for a week or more, most likely smelling highly unpleasant, and probably carrying all of their worldly belongings in very small packages. Why are they so different? Words. Words like “ubiquitous” and “undoing” are about as comforting as words get. They are the chai latte of language. It’s not like U is a particularly lovely letter to look at or write, and its sound isn’t all that appealing on its own. But when you speak a word that starts with U, you will always sound suave and sexy. Maybe that’s why I love U words. I’m very often awkward and stumble over words starting with hard consonants, but when I say a U word I sound downright lovely. Elegant, even. I aspire to elegance, but my lack of coordination and skill in speaking to strangers makes elegance a little bit difficult to achieve. U words are elegant in nature. I don’t have to aspire to them, I can just speak one and suddenly transform into Grace Kelly. U words are magical. Words that start with the letter “pu” are the opposite of smooth. P-U words sound crass and explode out of the mouth with no dignity whatsoever. Pudding is one of those awful words. The P at the start is terribly abrasive, and the double d’s in the middle; are like twin punches to the gut. My delicate little U is reduced to a strange gust of air through the vocal chords, a burst of unpleasant sound stuck in between two harsh companions. Pudding is just an awful word, so awful that every time I say it I begin to laugh at its sheer hideousness. It’s the Bearded Lady of English, fun to see once but honestly just disturbing after that. I love the intense emotional impact words can have. The words “snake” and “wig” send chills down my spine. “Snake” is simply referred to as “the S word” in my family. Everyone who knows me is aware that even the mention of the slithering disgrace to Mother Nature will have me awake for three days straight trying to avoid a nightmare. “Wig” is not as terrifying as “snake” but easily raises each tiny hair on the nape of my neck. I do not appreciate hair that is not firmly attached to its owner. I ordinarily have a very strong stomach, but when I see hair on the floor, a plate, or a chair, or anywhere it doesn’t naturally belong, my stomach churns violently. I must use every ounce of self-control to force my last meal to stay in place. Wigs are the very height of the horror that is unattached hair. They are collections of grotesque strands all put together so that one can pretend to have hair that isn’t naturally on his or her head. It’s disturbing, really, that we as a society would allow such an invention to continue to exist. We’re worrying about greenhouse gasses and world peace, but meanwhile, people are actually making a living by putting together unnatural webs of detached hairs for people to put on their heads! What fresh hell is this? I can’t imagine